The book of lost things
by Petite Dilly
Summary: First and Second Age ficlets and drabbles. Chapter 5 : Annatar's triumph.
1. The Gulf of Lune

**Titre :** The Gulf of Lune

**Base :** J. R. R. Tolkien (_The Lord of the Rings_ + The_ Silmarillion_)

**Rating :** G

**Nombre de mots :** 100

This text deals with the disappearing of Beleriand and the Silmarillion content.

It is a translation from french. So if you see some mistakes (grammar or vocabular), please tell, it will help :)

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When the tide goes back, the calm inhabitants of Lindon sometimes see strange ruins appear. Then, their heart fills with both desire and sadness.

There was a great realm, it is said, the land of every tale. Elven princes with red feathers on their helmets waged war. Pale black knights died, looking at their doomed reflection in some deep river where gold shines.

To fishermen eager for human and elvish stories, that land seems more true that their own cities : moors where beasts and things are gifted with speech, in which great works always end up tinged with blood.


	2. The festival

**Title :** The festival

**Author :** Dilly

**Base :** J. R. R. Tolkien (_The Silmarillion_)

**Characters : **Beren/Luthien, Maedhros/Fingon, Maglor.

**Date/place : **Himring, betweeen Luthien and Beren's wedding and the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

**Rating :** PG

**Nombre de mots :** 262

This short text is a translation from french. So if you see some mistakes (grammar or vocabular), please tell, it will help :)

oOoOo

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The small puppet with dark hair and blue dress seemed to be the epitome of the Sindar and the Noldor, and she was dancing on the wooden stage, under the gazing look of the elven children.

« What feels Beren for Luthien, that was not love... »

Early in the morning, garlands of flowers have been hanged upon the fortress' frozen walls, candles inside the loopholes facing the plain, and for one day, war was to be forgotten.

« What feels Beren for Luthien, that was not love... »

Maglor was playing the harp and singing, and as his body was vibrating, each member of the audience could feel inside his chest, his belly and under his skin, the joy for victory, and Hope.

« What feels Beren for Luthien, that was not love... »

Their adventures were pictured with grace and poetry by the puppet master. Small Luthien was now in front of Beren's doll, and they seemed, by their different hair color, honey and raven, to complete each other as the two parts of world and life. No family conflict could have separated them, no moutain and no jail. Luthien like a bird was fleeing from Thangorodrim, and Beren followed her with his bleeding mutilated arm.

« What feels Beren for Luthien, that was not love... » repeated Maglor. « That was Fate, himself, which had opened his heart, and guided him from death to sunlight. »

Not far, under the high dais, the Himring king had hidden his face with a part of his mantle, weeping in silence.


	3. The fever

**Title :** The fever

**Auteur :** Petite Dilly

**Fandom :** J. R. R. Tolkien (_Le Silmarillion_)

**Characters :** Maedhros and Fingon

**Rating :** G

**Word count :** 260

I'm french, so if you see some mistakes (grammar or vocabular), please tell, it will help :)

The scene takes place after Maedhros' rescue.

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In the last strides of this dark travel, when he felt that he will definitely rest in the mild and solar place, there was again a music that was humming. Amongst the several voices he heard – amongst some unknown or brotherly voices –, there was one he perceived to be the clearest, and at the end, the more regular. Long vowels with minor inflexions, a melodious and calm voice as the sound of the zither.

And when he finally woke up, he laid in a bed made with fleece blankets, and the Sun was moving through the ceiling. But most important of all, at his left, was Fingon the Brave, looking at him with care and sadness. For years, he had only saw orcs or even uglier creatures. Thus at this time, nothing could have been more beautiful and fairer that his friend's face. A face he knew so well in the past, but which happened to still shine from the light of the Trees, whereas his own was lost. A face with strong and pure features, blue eyes, radiant too, alone from the nobility of his soul. And from the darkness he just has came out, Maedhros rose his left arm, attracted by this light. He managed to touch Fingon's hand and wrist, so warm.

« I love you... »

That wasn't Maedhros'words. The sentence just slipped out of him, like a leaf falling from a tree, as exhaustion and circumstances have deprived his body of his reins.

And its sound was too weak to be heard.


	4. The Dispossessed

**Title :** The Dispossessed

**Rating :** PG-13

**Wordcount :** 543

**Characters :** Maedhros' brothers

"_For Maedhros begged forgiveness for the desertion in Araman; and he waived his claim to kingship over all the Noldor, saying to Fingolfin: 'If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.' But to this his brothers did not all in their hearts agree.__  
__Therefore even as Mandos foretold the House of Fëanor were called the Dispossessed, because the over-lordship passed from it, the elder, to the house of Fingolfin, both in Elendë and in Beleriand, and because also of the loss of the Silmarils."__  
_

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« Fingon is like a brother to Nelyo », explained Maglor. «They grew up together. They have the same moderation. »

« And then he forgot he had true brothers ! », shouted Celegorm. « Maglor, come and tell him ! If he wants to give up his crown, very well – perhaps he is no longer capable of anything, after all. But taking it from you, taking it from us all, in order to give it to that half-Vanya...»

Maglor didn't reply.

« He agrees with him, of course », said quietly Curufin. « He always agreed with him. What would say Father... »

« Father got us to slay our kin, to leave our cousins to die in the Ice. Would you follow his path again ? Would you cut your uncle's throat in his bed ? »

« This debate is pointless », grunted Caranthir. « We have to remove Nelyo from office, in order to invalide his decision. And _now_. »

« I'm the only one who can do it », said Maglor. « But when he came back, I accepted he recovered the throne. »

« Nothing is written », opposed Curufin.

Maglor had an almost cruel smile.

« Nothing, yes… But all the court witnessed it. »

Curufin's inkwells and parchments fell on the ground ; it was Celegorm who had stood up brutally, and he sent his seat to break against the cliff near which they settled their tents.

« I cannot believe it...! I can't believe they managed to do that...! You should not reject the word of your father, Maglor, for how many times didn't he warn us about the malice of Indis' sons ! Fingon had always been an ambitious man, an actor who hides his real intentions behind front golden deeds. »

The hunter was helding up his fist towards his elder brother, who turned pale facing his madness.

« Don't you understand, Celegorm ? », whispered the minstrel. «The king of the Noldor must be _good_. »

« And thus, if I follow your reasoning, we are not enough ? », said Curufin with irony. « And neither you, nor him. »

« Elven virgins ! Morgoth mutilated you, too », accused Caranthir.

Celegorm burst into a cold laugh. But Maglor remained undaunted.

« If you are so vigorous », he said, « why didn't you cross Ard-Galen, explore Morgoth's caves, climb the Thangorodrim, alone, to deliver your brother in torment ? Instead of remaining in your campements, quarreling like young unoccupied spinners without courage ! »

« The adventure of a fool, doomed to failure », said Curufin. « Only chance allowed him not to loose his life during this expedition. A chance on which none of us could rely.»

But Celegorm's face had withered, for being a former Oromë's follower, he was consumed by the remorse for not having saved his elder brother. He left the tent, whistled his hounds, and rode the first horse he found.


	5. Annatar's triumph

**Title : **Annatar's triumph

**Characters :** Sauron/Annatar, Celebrimbor

**Rating :** PG-13

**Word count :** 455

This drabble is a translation from french.

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It was as if the former brightness of his body had reversed. Everything was dull. On both sides of his face and beneath it, his long hair, of dark shade without highlights, seemed to be some fabric altar for an exhausted walker, who laid down under the trees since he can't proceed further.

But it made his face appear even thinner, by filling the carved sides of his emaciated cheeks. A face which had become so small on the top of a tall, powerful and muscular body. Short nails of a goldsmith ; braids partly slashed by orcs – what importance now, they were mere horsehair, on old leather ! Celebrimbor was no longer here for five hours… Since Elves and Humans do not differ in that matter : when they die, the only remain of them in Endor is a thick and greyish statue, a simulacrum of themselves, which looks like them only in the way of a plaster cast made from the print of the real model.

And while he beheld the corpse laid on a table by his human lieutenants, the corpse of the greatest creator of this age amongst the High-Elves, with whom he had worked for four hundred years, as a fellow guild member and a friend… This being of great beauty, of strong passions and deep knowledge always increasing – this being he conquered, deceived, defeated, then broke by torture… Annatar was seized by a feeling which was not euphoria of victory. This one he had known, when over a year ago, shining Lord of his troops, as noble and terrible as a Vala, he disarmed, in front of the gates of Khazad-Dûm, the son of Curufin.

But now, there was no more than that pitiful body, unable to inspire him any respect – and the Elven Rings hidden, out of reach. Hence, the void that dwelt in him, and which was like a black flame in the depth of his mind, expanded in his entire soul like a sudden fire, totally overwhelming him, and causing him a pain so atrocious, unbearable, that he screamed a terrifying cry which was heard even in the Moria halls. And during these crises, which stopped only the time of his conquests and machinations, he couldn't even address his former master, held prisoner beyond the bounds of the world.

At the end, the elf's body was given to the orcs, and they hanged it upon a pole to use it as a banner. They loved to humiliate what they didn't possess, and took delight in bringing horror and fear on Gil-Galad's soldiers' faces. As for Sauron, who wasn't nothing but wrath and wound, he turned his eyes to the West – from where Numenor's help was expected.


End file.
